


Combustible

by StarBurnedOut



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-30 11:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarBurnedOut/pseuds/StarBurnedOut
Summary: As Scott struggles with his developing feelings for Malia, a new threat comes to town and targets Parrish. Post-6A.





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Not a one-shot this time, but probably not a very long story. I'm thinking five, maybe six chapters for this one, though I make no guarantees. I wanted to do something with Parrish, and Hellhounds in general, and I figured I could weave a little Scott/Malia love in there along the way too. I've been going pretty heavy on the romance lately, so the action part of me wanted to get a little bloody again, so that'll come along soon enough. Let me know what you think.

**01**

"Scott. Wake up."

The voice, soft but insistent, filtered through Scott's sleep-fogged brain, drawing him slowly back to consciousness. Cracking his eyes open, he grimaced a little and rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the dull ache at the base of his neck. It took a second for his memories to catch up to reality, but when he spotted a familiar figure standing next to him, he let out a little groan.

"I fell asleep again, didn't I?"

"Yep," Malia replied, grinning as she shoved his feet off the couch and claimed the spot they'd been occupying. "You made it about halfway through this time though. That's an improvement."

Scott just grunted as he sat up and leaned forward, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. It was the third time he'd tried to watch her favourite movie with her, and also the third time he hadn't been able to stay awake through the whole thing. In his defense, falling asleep during late night movie marathons was something he did often, a trend she was fully aware of. They'd certainly had enough of them the past weeks, months, little welcome escapes from studying as he tried his best to help her with summer school and graduation.

"Sorry," he muttered, stretching his arms until he heard and felt a satisfying crack. "I'll finish it next time, I promise."

"Sure, just like you promised this time."

There was no heat in her words, just a teasing edge, and he couldn't help but grin. That was Malia. He'd developed a real appreciation for her as they grew closer over the summer, partly for the sharp wit she tended to bury under her bluntly aggressive exterior.

If he was being honest with himself, it was a little more than an appreciation. When he was alone, it was easier to admit the truth. That he really liked being around her, with her, as often as he could. That he'd been growing more and more attracted to her over the summer, and even beyond that, back during the whole situation with the Wild Hunt. That when they were apart, he couldn't get his mind off her no matter how hard he tried, could hear her voice and see her face every time he closed his eyes. That when he had nothing to do and reached for his phone, hers was always the first name he scrolled to, before Stiles, before Lydia, before anybody else. That every time she smiled at him, he felt that wonderful swooping sensation in his gut that he hadn't felt since Kira left. He knew what it was, what it meant.

Unfortunately, when he was with her, which was all the time these days, the words just wouldn't come out. He wasn't sure why, exactly. He must have made up his mind to say something a dozen times already. He knew exactly what he wanted with her, what direction he desperately desired to take their relationship in. But there was always some excuse not to make a move, some reason why he should wait just a little longer. And so he kept it to himself, they stayed friends, and the same remained the same.

"Hey," he said, looking at her, frowning. "Why'd you wake me up?"

"Why?" She smirked. "Were you having a nice dream?" When he just rolled his eyes and scoffed, she huffed out an amused breath and shook her head. "Your phone was going off." Leaning forward, she snagged it off the coffee table and handed it to him.

"You could have checked it," he said, accepting if from her and unlocking it. "Probably just my mom. Oh, no, wait, it's Lydia." His brow furrowed slightly as he scanned through the two missed calls and six texts she'd left him in the last twenty-five minutes, all urgent prompts for him to call her back. As he reached the last one, another one came through, this time in all caps. "What the hell?"

"What's up?"

"She wants me to call her. Like, really bad."

"Maybe she's just lonely," Malia offered hopefully, as she lifted up slightly and tucked her legs underneath herself. "It's been a whole week since Stiles left."

He arched an eyebrow and held up his phone so she could see it. "That look like loneliness to you?"

"No," she admitted, whole body slumping a little as a frown spread across her face. "It looks like trouble. Damn it! We were doing so well. I haven't had to clean blood out of my clothes in, like, a month."

Shaking his head in amusement, he called Lydia, who picked up almost instantly. "Scott!" Just the way she said his name had his heart sinking. There was a certain mix of terror and panic in her voice that she only seemed to get when her Banshee powers were working overtime. "Parrish is in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know! I woke up and I just knew something was wrong. I called Sheriff Stilinski, but he said Jordan was off-duty and he couldn't get in touch with him and I don't know who else to call and my car is in the shop and—"

"Lydia!" She fell silent as soon as he barked out her name, and even Malia's eyes widened a little at his sudden outburst. He didn't like taking such a harsh tone with his friend, but he could hear the panic growing in her voice, and if Parrish really was in trouble, her freaking out now wasn't going to do anybody any favours. "Calm down. I'm sure he's fine. He's a Hellhound," he reasoned, lowering his voice, trying to keep it as soft, as soothing as possible.

"Scott." This time, her voice, while still shot through with an undercurrent of terror that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, was barely above a whisper. "I think he's _dying_."

There was no way he could take that lightly, not with her history, her power. Hellhound or not, Parrish was a friend, and Lydia's record with this kind of thing just couldn't be ignored. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

"Are you at home?"

"No, I'm with Malia. We're at her place."

"Good. That'll save time." There was a hint of relief in her voice for the first time. "Can the two of you come pick me up. I think... I think I can find him. There's something pulling me..." She trailed off, voice losing focus as it softened. "Just—just get here quick. _Please_." Then she ended the call.

Malia was already up and heading for the door when Scott looked up. "You heard?" he asked as he stood and slid his phone into his pocket.

"Yeah." She grabbed her keys off the counter as he fell into step behind her. "Let's go."

**-l-l-l-l-**

Lydia was waiting outside her front door when they pulled into her driveway. She wasted no time in sliding into the backseat, already urging Malia to drive before the door was fully closed. "Head north," she commanded, settling back into the seat as they took off.

Turning in his seat, Scott took a second to look over his friend. She looked, for lack of a better word, ruffled. He knew how much care she put into maintaining her appearance, and though he'd seen her at less than her best more than a few times over the years, it was still a little jarring to see her hair so out of place, her clothing wrinkled and carelessly thrown on. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying, though she wasn't now.

"Turn here," she said, leaning forward to stare out the windshield.

"Lydia," he said softly, repeating it a second later when her eyes remained glued to the road. "It'll be all right." He extended his hand toward her and she grasped onto it tight, squeezing hard, like she was afraid if she let go, something horrible would happen.

"Did you see any specifics?" Malia asked, eyeing her in the rear-view mirror.

"I didn't _see_ anything. I just _know_ something is wrong! I can feel it! I—left! Go left!" She leaned forward so far, she was almost in the front of the car with them as she pointed out where to turn.

As they tore down the narrow side-street, Scott turned back around and looked out his own window. He knew the area well, so he knew there was nothing out here. They were almost on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, where some cheap motels and second-rate fast food joints were just about all there was. He had no idea what Parrish would have been doing out here, especially if he wasn't working. There were better places to go for food, and he didn't seem the type to spend a lot of time in nameless motels.

"Stop!"

The sudden shriek from the backseat had him cringing and reaching for his ears, even as Malia pulled off to the shoulder of the road, just before a dimly-lit intersection. They both turned in their seats to look at Lydia, but she ignored them, already reaching for the door handle. Before he could catch her, she opened it and darted out onto the dark street. Cursing under his breath, he followed her lead, jogging after her as she headed for the sidewalk, running faster than he would have thought for somebody with legs so short.

"Where's she going?" Malia called, hot on his heels as they pounded after her.

Before he could respond, Lydia abruptly stopped, right in the middle of a nearly-empty parking lot. He stopped behind her, watching closely as she turned in a circle, eyes open wide and staring. Malia stopped beside him and he motioned for her to stay quiet. They both looked on as their friend looked around the lot, an expression of intense concentration on her face.

"There!" she suddenly cried, taking off again in the direction of the motel. This time, she stopped beside a dark SUV parked right outside the building. "This is his car," she said as she circled the vehicle, shaking her head. "But he's not here. He's not here. He's not here." Hearing the rising edge of panic in her repeated words, Scott quickly wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind and pulled her close, hoping a physical connection might keep her grounded. It seemed to work, because she didn't freak out, just stared at the SUV, trembling slightly.

Catching Malia's eye, he nodded toward the car, and she immediately went to work, slowly circling around it, checking for any signs of what may have happened to Parrish. There was nothing immediately obvious, but once she was finished, she stepped back over to them. "You smell that?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he replied grimly, meeting her gaze and frowning. "Blood."

"Jordan's blood?" Lydia's voice was small, scared, as she clutched at his arm with both hands.

"Maybe," he said softly. "It's really weak, so it's kind of hard to tell."

"No fire or smoke," Malia noted, as she turned to consider the car again, eyes narrowed. "If he was attacked, you'd expect fire, right? I mean, Hellhound, fire. It's sort of his thing."

"Maybe they knocked him out."

"Can you track it?" The soft question drew their attention back to Lydia, who was still staring unblinkingly at the abandoned SUV. "His blood. Can you track it?"

"Yeah, I think so," Scott said slowly, after considering it for a moment. The scent wasn't very strong, either because he hadn't bled much, or because too much time had passed, but it was still there. He wasn't about to hand out any guarantees, but if the scent stayed at least this strong, he thought there was a pretty decent chance he'd be able to follow it. Meeting Malia's gaze, he gestured for her to take Lydia. "You two wait here while I go. And call the Sheriff. And maybe Liam too."

Crossing her arms, Malia scoffed and levelled a defiant look at him. "Fat chance, Scott. If there's somebody out there who can take out a Hellhound, there's no way I'm letting you go alone." Her tone was hard, her expression set.

"We're all going," Lydia stated before he could argue, the finality in her suddenly stronger voice leaving no room for debate. "Now, let's go!"

At her urging, Scott moved closer to the SUV and found the spot where the scent was strongest. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath through his nose, making sure he had the best possible handle on the blood, as Malia did the same thing next to him. Once he was sure, he caught her eye, and when she nodded firmly, he turned and began to follow the smell, heading toward the far side of the lot. She stayed at his side, following his lead, as Lydia stuck close behind them, eyes darting around like she was expecting, hoping the missing deputy would appear out of the darkness at any second.

The scent remained strong enough to follow as they passed out of the lot and onto the road beside it. It was slow going, but the lack of people in the area helped a bit, keeping the competing smells down. They crossed the road into another parking lot, this one outside a twenty-four hour convenience store. The trail led around back behind the building and up to a chain-link fence.

"He was definitely here," Scott said, running his hand over the cold metal links.

"How can you tell?"

"He left something behind." Reaching out, Malia snagged the torn piece of fabric that was stuck to a sharp edge on the top of the fence and held it up for Lydia to see. "Looks like part of a shirt. And there's definitely blood on it."

"Still no fire though," Scott muttered, as he led them toward the opening in the fence. "Why didn't he fight? He made the decision to jump the fence, so he was clearly conscious. Why run? Why not fight?"

It was a good question, but one he didn't expect any answer to. Mostly because there was no good answer. He knew Parrish well enough to know the man wasn't afraid of much. Even before he was a Hellhound, he was disarming bombs for the military. Now, he was a walking, talking inferno with supernatural strength and near-invulnerability. Whatever could make a man like that run wasn't something he was sure he wanted to meet.

Behind the fence was a narrow strip of pavement that ended where it met a line of trees. The group didn't hesitate, leaving behind the flickering streetlights and rundown buildings as they plunged into the woods. Scott glowed his eyes as the moon was obscured by the branches over their heads, blanketing them all in darkness. The farther the trio went into the woods, the stronger the scent of blood got, to the point he began to worry the Hellhound might actually bleed out before they could find him. Beside him, Malia's head was on a swivel, her posture tense, the blood clearly putting her on edge. Without thought, he reached out and grabbed her hand, only realising what he'd done when she squeezed softly. Suddenly, he was thankful for the darkness, because it was a lot easier to not get embarrassed when he could pretend she couldn't just look over and see him.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, dragging him to a halt too. "Do you hear that?"

Tilting his head, he concentrated, trying to hear whatever noise she'd picked up on. A second later, he heard it. Somebody was breathing, slow and shallow, each breath bubbling out with a disturbingly wet sound.

"Through here."

Releasing her hand, he darted forward, relying on his reflexes to keep him on his feet as he dodged through the trees, heading for the source of the breathing. He could hear the two girls behind him, but he was quicker, crashing through branches and leaves, until he suddenly emerged in a moon-lit clearing and found what he was looking for. Across from him, lying face-down in a shallow trench that might have been a creek if it had rained lately, was the missing deputy. And even in the dark, and from a distance, Scott could see how badly he was hurt. He was shirtless, his back a mass of bloody cuts and gashes. But worse than that was the back of his neck and head. It looked like somebody had taken a knife to it, carving him up like a piece of meat.

"Oh, man, Parrish." Scott could hear the horror in his own voice, even as he raced across the clearing and fell to his knees next to the man. Up close, it was even worse. He grimaced as he looked down at the mess that had been the back of Parrish's head, hands out to his sides as he tried to figure out what to do with them, hesitant to touch him, to make things any worse. "Ah, shit!"

"Scott! Is he there? Did you find him?"

Before he could stop them, his friends burst into the clearing and bee-lined toward him. Malia took one look at the fallen form of the deputy and immediately stopped short, reaching out to grab Lydia, but she shook her off, sinking down on his other side, across from Scott.

"Is he dead?" she asked, body tense but voice deceptively calm as she looked down at the horrendous wounds.

"No. He's breathing."

"Why isn't he healing?" Malia asked, peering down over Lydia's shoulder. "Shouldn't he be..." She waved her arms around. "Like, on fire or something?"

"I don't know," he said, trying to avoid breathing in too much as the overpowering scent of blood flooded his senses. "Should we—should we turn him over?" He looked at Lydia as he asked, but she seemed lost, eyes wide, staring, and locked on the brutalised man.

Gritting his teeth, he decided just to go for it, and as gently as he could, he found the least damaged area on the Hellhound's torso and slowly flipped him over onto his back. Immediately, Lydia clapped a hand over her mouth and shrank back. There were two gaping holes in his chest, gunshot wounds, and a thick black liquid was slowly dribbling out of both. Curious, he reached out and got a bit on his finger, then sniffed it gingerly. It didn't have much of a smell, but there was something familiar about it, something that made a part of him recoil, even though he couldn't place it.

As Parrish's heartbeat, which had been fairly strong and steady, began to grow weaker, Scott knew they had to act. "Give me a hand to get him up." Lydia moved out of the way as Malia took her place and reached out to mirror the grip he had on the deputy from the other side. Between the two of them, they were able to get him up on his feet, taking his weight on themselves as they tried their best not to jar him too much. "Call Deaton," he said as they started forward, moving as quickly as they could under the circumstances. He was a little surprised at how steady his voice was. "Tell him to meet us at the clinic. Tell him—just tell him we need him."

Pulling out her phone with shaky hands, Lydia did as she was asked, while he concentrated on the path ahead. He could feel the blood on his arm, still dripping from Parrish's wounds, and grimaced. The Hellhound's heartbeat was growing steadily weaker, his breathing more laboured, shallower.

"Come on," he muttered, looking at Malia and seeing the same anxiety, the same fear clouding his mind mirrored in her eyes. "Just hold on, man. Just hold on."


	2. 02

**02**

When they pulled up to the animal clinic, Deaton was by the door, waiting for them. He stood back as Scott and Malia pulled Parrish from the back of the SUV, then went ahead opening doors as they carried him into the back room and laid him out on the examination table. They both moved away to give the veterinarian space then as he went to work, looking over the wounded deputy.

"Has he regained consciousness at all since you found him?" he asked as he leaned over Parrish to get a better look at the gunshot wounds.

"No," Scott replied, wincing a little when his boss pressed around the edge of one of the bullet holes and a gusher of that black liquid squirted out. "What _is_ that?"

"I'm not sure." Deaton's voice was soft as he studied the strange substance, curiosity twisting his face. Like Scott had done earlier, he cautiously sniffed at it, frowning when that didn't seem to tell him anything. "It appears to be plant-based. Some type of poison, perhaps." He paused and looked up, expression turning speculative. "It might explain why he isn't healing. It's somehow suppressing his body's natural defences, not unlike the effect wolfsbane can have on you."

"Should we try to burn it out then?"

He shook his head as he leaned over to examine the bullet holes again. "No, I don't know if that would work in this case. Any substance that's so effective on a Hellhound might have some kind of... unpredictable reaction to flame."

"We have to do something!" Lydia cried, clutching the edge of the examination table hard as she stared at the veterinarian through wide eyes. "He's _dying_!"

Rather than responding, he waved his hand toward a tray of instruments behind her. "Can you hand me those forceps, please?" As she did, he continued on with, "I think the bullets may have been laced with the poison. It seems to only be leaking from here. If I can get them out, that may have some kind of positive effect on him."

Taking the surgical instrument in hand, he slowly began to root around in the lower of the two holes, searching for the slug buried inside. Silence reigned as he concentrated on the task at hand, all three teenagers watching closely. Scott could only grimace at the unpleasant sounds of the work, magnified by the quiet around them. Looking for a distraction, he scanned the room. Lydia was focused entirely on the procedure, watching Deaton's hands like a hawk, her own fingers once again white-knuckle gripping the edge of the table. Next to him, Malia was leaning back against the wall, looking almost bored with the whole situation. But he could see the sporadic clenching of her jaw, the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot, telling nervous tics he'd slowly become aware of over time.

"Almost... have... it," Deaton said, as he finally got a grip on the bullet. "There!"

The second he pulled the slug out of the hole, Parrish's torso jerked up off the table, back arching in a deep bow. Deaton and Lydia both leapt back from the table, eyes wide, while Scott took a step forward, but it was over just as quickly as it began, the Hellhound's body settling back down and lying still again. For a second, nobody said anything, all just staring, unsure of exactly what had just happened.

"Well," Deaton finally said, as he dropped the bullet in a little glass container, "that was... interesting. Let's try for the second one, shall we?"

This time, as the vet worked to remove the slug, everybody stayed on guard, watching Parrish closely for any sort of reaction. Belatedly, Scott realised the Hellhound's heartbeat was stronger now, steadier than it had been. "I think it's working," he said, taking another step forward, head tilted, listening carefully. "His pulse is getting stronger."

"Just as I suspected," Deaton muttered absently. "The bullets must be coated in—ah, got it!" As he pulled the slug out, he took a step back, just in case, Lydia mirroring his movement from the other side of the table. But there was no immediate reaction this time, and after a second, everybody relaxed. He held up the bullet to the light, peering closely at it as Scott and Malia both took his spot next to the table. "There's definitely odd discolouration on this," the doctor said softly, almost to himself as the teenagers looked down at their fallen ally. "It appears to have been grooved to hold the poison better."

Turning, Scott looked at his boss, curious. "Have you ever heard of anything that can do this to a Hellhound?" It was unnerving to think there was something out there that could so easily subdue Parrish, after watching him take on the Beast alone and hold his own. He vividly remembered the beating he'd taken at the hands of the monstrous werewolf, so he knew just how much it took to go one-on-one with such a creature and manage to walk away.

"No," Deaton admitted, eyes still studying the bullet, "but I don't know everything, Scott. I'd never even met a Hellhound before Parrish." He paused, pursing his lips. "Perhaps Argent might know something more."

Nodding at that, Scott reached into his pocket to grab his phone, completely unaware of what was happening behind him. The only warning something was wrong came in the form of a sharp gasp from Lydia. Almost instantly, somebody collided heavily with him from behind, throwing him to the floor, covering his body with their own. He had about half a second to wonder why Malia had just tackled him before the world suddenly erupted in a flash of painfully bright light and searing heat. It was over quick, an explosion of blazing flame that roared through the room like a tidal wave, blowing out every window, shattering every piece of glass. And then it was gone, leaving behind only darkness and the powerful odour of sulfur hanging heavy in the scorched air.

The sudden inundation of sensory input left him a little out of it, so even when the light and sound faded, all he could do was lie there and breathe. He could feel Malia's weight pinning him down, her heartbeat hammering in her chest as her own breaths came short and choppy in his ear.

"Are you all right?" she gasped out after a moment, as she slowly pushed herself up off him and rose to her feet.

"I think so." Grimacing, he rolled over and grabbed her offered hand, letting her pull him back up to his feet. The sudden movement had his head spinning, so he closed his eyes tight and waited for the sensation to pass. Once it did, he looked around the dark room, unable to see anything by the dull orange light filtering through the shattered windows from the street outside. "Hey! Lydia? Deaton? Are you all right?"

"We're okay," was Lydia's quick response, from across the room. She sounded a little strained, but otherwise fine. "Deaton hit his head, but I think he's fine."

"I am." There was an undercurrent of pain in the veterinarian's voice, but he sounded calm, collected, and Scott let out a little sigh of relief.

Before any of them could say anything else, a low growl suddenly rang out, echoing through the destroyed room. As Scott turned to look, he saw two fiery orange spots suddenly appear in the center of the room. Eyes. Parrish was awake.

"Parrish," he said softly, taking a step toward the Hellhound, glowing his eyes to try and see what was happening.

In that instant, three things happened. The first was the deputy attempted to get off the table, only to immediately pitch forward, his legs unable to support him. Scott darted forward and managed to catch the falling man before he hit the ground. The second was the sudden burst of light as Deaton found a flashlight in one of the drawers across the room and flicked it on. The third was the sound of the front door opening, followed by heavy footsteps as somebody raced through the clinic, heading towards them.

As Scott got under Parrish's arm so he could keep him on his feet, he looked toward the doorway. The beam of the flashlight redirected there, revealing the worried face of Sheriff Stilinski as he paused and took in the sight before him.

"What the hell was that?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"It was Jordan." Scott looked toward Lydia, who was standing to his right, still on the other side of the table. "I think when we pulled the second bullet out, there was a... release of power or something. I saw his eyes glow, and then..." She trailed off, looking around the destroyed room.

"Sorry." The Hellhound's voice was a harsh croak, barely intelligible.

"It's all right," Deaton said, making his way over to them and clasping a hand to the man's shoulder. "I do have insurance," he joked lightly as he gave him a quick once-over under the light of the flashlight. "Scott, can you get him out into the other room? I need more light."

Slowly, Scott half-walked, half-carried his burden toward the doorway, taking almost all the his weight on himself. He could feel the frustration growing in the man, whose legs just refused to stay steady beneath him, but ignored it for the moment. When he drew level with the door, Stilinski moved around the other side, and between the two of them, they got him out into the waiting room and sat him down in one of the chairs next to the clinic's main entrance. As they backed away, the vet turned the lights on, flooding the room with bright light.

Wincing, Scott blinked to clear the spots from his vision as his boss moved around him to get to his patient. Behind him, he heard Lydia gasp, and when his vision returned, he immediately saw why. The holes in Parrish's chest were gone, covered over with smooth, unmarked skin. There was a little ash or soot on him, but his wounds were otherwise healed.

Deaton, kneeling on the floor next to him, reached out and experimentally prodded where the holes had been. "Well, that's a good sign," he remarked when Parrish didn't react, his entire form slumped in the chair like he was exhausted, or just completely out of energy. Standing, the vet moved around the side and gently moved Parrish's head forward. After a moment, he smiled and nodded. "Completely healed. It looks like your powers have returned."

"Why am I so weak?" the deputy asked, eyes barely opened as he looked up. "I feel like... I don't know. Like I haven't slept in a week or something."

Pursing his lips, Deaton considered the question for a moment. "Well, there are still traces of whatever substance did this to you in your body," he said slowly, more like he was thinking out loud than actually responding to the question. "The major sources are gone, which has allowed some of your power to return. But it may take your body a little while to work the remnants out of your system. If that's the case, I'd imagine your strength would slowly return over the next few hours, or perhaps days."

"Days?" There was a note of disbelief in Parrish's tone, though it was mostly lost under the sheer exhaustion weighing it down.

"Just a guess," Deaton replied, shrugging at his patient. "It could be longer. It could be shorter. I have no familiarity with whatever substance was used on you. I'm sorry."

"Parrish," Stilinski interjected abruptly, frustration colouring his voice. "What happened to you?"

"Good question." Lydia stepped forward, kneeling next to the Hellhound's chair and looking up into his face. "You were dying, Jordan. I felt it. What happened?"

For a moment, the man remained silent, the reluctance to speak written plain as day on his face. He tried to look away from Lydia, but Scott moved forward, stepping up behind her, and giving him no safe place to aim his gaze. "I was attacked," he finally admitted, all the fight abruptly going out of him.

"No shit." Malia stepped up next to him and crossed her arms. "Be more specific." Scott turned and arched an eyebrow at her, getting a shrug in return. "What? Don't tell me you don't want to know exactly what happened. He was _really_ messed up."

He couldn't argue with that. Turning back to Parrish, he caught the man's eye and held it until the deputy blinked and looked away.

"It was a group," Parrish finally said, closing his eyes and letting his head lean back against the top of the chair. "Not human. Werewolves, maybe, or some other kind of shifter. Strong. I got a call from an informant of mine asking to meet him at a motel. When I got there, they were waiting. I took a shot, here." His hand slowly moved to his chest, rubbing the spot where the lower of the two bullets had been. "I tried to fight, but I was weak. I ran. They followed. They caught up to me in the woods and..." His voice had been growing steadily weaker as he spoke, and trailed off completely then.

"Jordan?" Lydia, who'd grabbed his free hand, shook it hard. "Jordan? Wake up!" The Hellhound stirred, letting out a little groan as his eyes slowly cracked back open. "Why were they after you?"

"Weren't," he muttered sleepily, rapidly losing his battle with exhaustion.

A frustrated growl suddenly sounded through the room, and Scott turned toward Malia just in time to watch as she moved forward, claws out. All he could do was wince as she crouched and drove her claws into Parrish's leg. The Hellhound's eyes shot open and he let out a growl of his own as he tensed up, the sudden pain doing what Lydia hadn't been able to.

"Who were they after?" she asked as she pulled her claws free and flicked his blood onto the floor.

"Marcus," Parrish gasped out, hand rubbing at his injured leg. "They're after Marcus."

There was a second of confused silence after that. Then, "Who the hell is Marcus?" Scott didn't have an answer for Malia. Neither did the Sheriff when she looked at him. The man just shrugged in response to her questioning look. "Parrish! Who's Marcus?"

"Hellhound, like me." He sat up a little straighter in his chair, head lolling back and forth a bit, like he didn't have the strength to keep it steady. His hands moved to the arms of his chair, grasping onto it with all the strength he had left, trying to stay upright as he met Scott's eyes. "He came to me last week. He was being hunted, had been for a long time. Wanted me to hide him, so I did." He paused there, and for a second, looked like he was about to pass out again. But after giving his head a little shake, he managed to press on. "He told me they'd come. They knew I was a Hellhound. Set me up. Tortured me. But I didn't crack. Still safe."

"Did he tell you who they are?" It alarmed Scott there was a group in his town hunting Hellhounds, something he wouldn't have even thought possible just a few hours ago. It was one thing to encounter one and have to fight it, but to actively try and hunt them was another thing entirely.

"No. Doesn't know. Been running." His eyes, drooping slightly as he started to fade again, flickered over to the Sheriff. "Safe house on Miller Road. I brought him there. Told him not to leave for anything. Found him a gua..." He trailed off, eyes closing.

"You brought him to a police safe house?" Rising, Lydia turned and looked toward the rest of the group with wide eyes. "They used an informant to set him up. They have to know he's a cop. How hard could it be to figure out where he'd hide somebody?"

But the Sheriff was shaking his head. "That one's... off the books. There's no way they could know about it."

"Well, that's a relief." Looking at Parrish, who was still struggling to stay awake, Scott grimaced, recalling the brutal mess they'd made of his head and neck, on top of the shots. "You didn't see what they did to him. It was..." He trailed off and shook his head. "If they really are after this Marcus guy, I'd hate to see what they do to him if they catch him."

For a moment, everybody was silent, staring at the deputy. Scott was going over options in his mind, trying to figure out what to do next. Obviously they had to help this other Hellhound. He wasn't just going to let the guy die, or get carved up like Parrish. But there was a group out there with an unknown number of people, with unknown powers, and the capability to completely neutralise an extremely powerful being with very little apparent effort. Even if he could somehow find them, and he had no idea where to even start with that, he couldn't just jump into a fight with them, not without more information.

"All right," he finally said, jaw clenching as he looked around at everybody. "For tonight, we'll take him to my house. It'll be safer there, behind the mountain ash. I mean, they probably think he's dead, but why take any chances?" He got a bunch of nods in return. "I'll try and get in touch with Argent, see if maybe he knows something about this group. Sheriff, maybe try to find the informant guy who set him up. Other than that..." He shrugged. "I don't know. Suggestions?"

"Should we check on this other Hellhound?" Stilinski asked.

Deaton, who'd been leaning against the wall next to the door now that his patient was on the way to recovery, stepped forward. "It might be best to wait," he advised. "Parrish says he didn't give up anything to his attackers, and you're right, Scott, they probably think he's dead. But that doesn't mean they aren't aware of us. They could be watching, and we could lead them right to Marcus."

Scott's eyes involuntarily darted to the door then, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. "You think that's likely?"

Deaton shrugged, pursing his lips. "I think it's a possibility, one we shouldn't overlook."

Scott looked around at his friends, waiting for confirmations from each before he nodded curtly. "Okay. We'll wait. Tomorrow, when things have calmed down a bit, we'll figure out what to do next, all right?"

With a plan to act on, even if it was a little vague, it gave everybody something to focus on, and they all started moving quickly. Scott, with Malia's help, got Parrish on his feet and headed out to his SUV. Deaton and Lydia followed them out, making the decision to all stay together for the night, the latter because she was still worried about Jordan, and the former because he wanted to observe his patient's further recovery. The Sheriff hung around long enough to make sure they got his deputy safely settled into the back of the SUV, then he headed out to try and find the man who'd helped set him up.

When they left the clinic, Scott stayed with Parrish, Lydia driving the SUV. Deaton jumped in with Malia, who followed them in her car. The ride went by quickly, the only sound coming from the talk radio station the stereo was already set on. Nobody spoke, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just people lost in their own thoughts.

At the McCall house, Scott and Deaton carried the Hellhound up the walkway while Lydia and Malia left to get rid of his car. They all figured advertising where the deputy was probably wasn't the greatest idea at the moment.

As they were approaching the door, Scott felt Parrish start to stir, shifting a little and letting out a little groan. "All right?" he asked softly.

"Been better," was the muttered response. "I've never felt this weak before."

"You'll recover," Deaton said, the trio pausing then as he reached out to open the front door. "Just give it a little time." That drew a grunt from the Hellhound, and silence reigned once again then as they manoeuvred him inside, heading upstairs to the spare bedroom. "Your mom is working tonight?" he asked as they laid their burden out on the bed.

"Yeah." Scott pulled out his phone and checked the time. "She'll be home in a couple hours."

"Okay. I'm going to wait downstairs for the girls to get back. Once the barrier is set, I'll be back to keep an eye on him."

He nodded, sinking into a chair as his boss left the room. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just staring at nothing, but he must have started to doze off. When Parrish suddenly spoke, it jarred him back to reality, eyes flying open as he sat up straight in his chair. "Thanks, Scott."

"Oh, yeah, no problem," he replied, relaxing back into his chair. For a second, he remained quiet, hesitating, before his curiosity got the better of him. "Parrish? Why didn't you come to me from the start? You know I would have helped." The question had been on his mind since the clinic, gnawing away at him. He'd thought the man trusted him after fighting beside him for nearly two years, but he hadn't even approached him, choosing to just hide the problem and try to deal with it himself. It didn't sit right with the him.

"Honestly?" Parrish asked, propping himself up a little so he could meet Scott's gaze. "I didn't want it to be your problem. You're gonna be out of here in a few months. You're finally getting out of this town, getting away from the... all the horrible stuff that happens here, moving on with your life. You seemed so happy lately, I didn't want to drag you back down. I thought I could handle it, keep you and your friends out of it, safe for once." He shook his head, frowning. "I guess I was wrong. But I'd do it the same way again. This shouldn't have been your problem."

Before Scott could reply, he heard the door open downstairs, followed by the low chatter of voices. "The girls are back," he said softly, rising to his feet. "Get some sleep. Deaton's gonna take care of you."

On his way down, he passed his boss on the stairs, exchanging nods with the man as they went in opposite directions. Pausing at the bottom of the staircase, he saw Lydia had already claimed the couch, lying down across it as she fiddled with her phone. Probably texting Stiles, he thought, as his eyes found Malia, leaning against the wall and looking back at him like she'd been waiting for him.

"Parrish is settled in," he said softly as he crossed the room to stand next to her. She smiled softly, reaching out to pat his arm gently. With a sigh, he sank back against the wall and shook his head. "I asked him why he didn't come to us with this."

Lydia looked up from her phone, curiosity written all over her face. "Why didn't he?"

The corner of Scott's mouth quirked up in a little smile that was completely devoid of all humour. "He was trying to keep us out of it. Didn't want to drag us in. I think he figures we're on the way out, so we shouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing anymore."

Malia scoffed. "That was dumb. He should have said something."

"Yeah..."

He trailed off, not quite sure exactly how to feel about the whole situation. A part of him got what the Hellhound had done, and even appreciated it a bit. But another, bigger part of him was a little angry. Beacon Hills was his _home_. He didn't just protect it out of some misguided sense of duty or obligation. He did it because he wanted to, because he could, because he had the power. He had no doubt that if something major cropped up while he was away at college, he'd drop everything and come back, because that's just who and how he was. He may not be living in Beacon Hills, but he knew, deep down inside, he'd never truly leave. Its problems would always be his, and that's just the way it was.

Reaching up, he rubbed at his aching temples and let out a heavy sigh. "You two should get some sleep. I'm gonna wait up for my mom." When Malia moved toward couch, clearly intending to stretch out on the floor, he caught her arm. "Just take my bed. I'll crash in my chair if I get tired."

She looked at him for a second, frowning, then shrugged and changed courses, heading for the stairs. He watched her back until she disappeared from sight, then headed for the closet to grab some blankets for Lydia.

"Thanks," she said softly, shooting him a grateful smile when he returned with an armful of linens and set them down on the coffee table. "What a night, huh?"

He snorted. "Yeah, you could say that." They shared weary smile, then he gestured toward the phone clutched in her hand. "Stiles?"

"Yeah." She glanced down at the phone and sighed. "I just—I needed to know he was okay. I wanted to call him, but it's like four in the morning in Virginia right now."

"Did he text back?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and snorted. "Yeah. He's half-asleep, so it was just some gibberish but it's enough for now. I'll call him tomorrow."

Nodding, Scott reached out and patted her shoulder softly, earning a soft smile before he retreated into the dark kitchen, leaving her to get some rest. Taking a seat at the table, he let his head sink down onto his crossed arms and took a deep breath. It was so quiet, he could hear every heartbeat in the house, slow, calm, as everybody finally relaxed, the adrenaline bleeding out of their systems.

Closing his eyes, he focused on the steady thrum of Malia's heart coming from up in his room, blocking out everything else, trying to distract himself from his thoughts, his worries, from the headache pounding against the inside of his skull. It helped, pushing away some of the mental noise, but not enough to completely clear his mind.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I really don't like how this one came out. It feels very clumsy. But there was a lot of information that needed to be conveyed, and after three cracks at it, this was the best result. Hopefully it's not complete garbage. I even cut an entire plot-line out of this to try and make it flow better. Not sure if it worked, but it's done. Let me know what you think.


End file.
